


we are deaf, we are numb

by naimeria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e04 Ka No'eau (The Painter), M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:16:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s tired, body and spirit, aching all over from words that have no truth and actions that have no meaning. </p><p>(Danny mourns Matt. Steve helps.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginary_iby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/gifts).



> Gifted to the lovely Iby because her gifset on tumblr inspired this pile of nonsense in the first place.

Staring through the car window at the front of the house, Danny wonders, not for the first time tonight, if this isn’t overstepping some kind of boundary. There was no plan, he’d just driven, aiming for somewhere, anywhere. 

The front of Rachel’s old house is mocking him, and he’s embarrassed that he came here at all, a house inhabited now by strangers. He wants Rachel’s soft hand at his cheek, apologizing for something she can’t fix; he wants Grace’s soft words and tight hugs, so he can fall back into a world where it’s just him and his daughter and everything is okay.  But they’re both actually in Jersey, Rachel admonishing him for leaving so soon, tone soft and forgiving, but still corrective; you shouldn't leave your family in such a state, Daniel. He knows what he's doing, who he's leaving, looks like he's fleeing with his tail between his legs. He was a coward, and he is still a coward, even as he quietly drives away, the ghost of what might have been following him to Pali Highway. 

He drives until he’s almost out of gas, then fills the tank and drives some more. His thoughts are airborne and limitless, leaping to and fro but settling on New Jersey every other minute. Drift to the face of his mother, tear-streaked but chin held high, his sisters flanking him at every turn, his father's all-encompassing silence. He’d left after only four days, when he could no longer bear the cold in his bones and the pats on the shoulder, whispers of “thanks for bringing him home” and “you did all you could, you know that.” 

He’s tired, body and spirit, aching all over from words that have no truth and actions that have no meaning. 

The sun is rising by the time the camaro is running on empty again, and this time he sidles up to a different house. This one contained some intention, no blind driving anymore. He’s still angry at himself for doing it, but he can’t really go anywhere else. 

He rests his head on the headrest, thinking the words over. He should go back to his place, he rationalizes. Dwell in the dark of his new house, where Grace will be in three more days. Instead, he’d come here, the smell of the sea penetrating the car, the trees half hiding the home swaying in the light breeze. He  _can_ go somewhere else; he just doesn’t want to. 

He doesn’t get what he wants, though. Never does. 

Hands rub his face, and he gets out of the car on a sigh. It’s out of gas anyway, he’d never make it back to his house as it is. He made his bed, now he has to lie in it. 

Hopping the fence to the backyard, he walks slowly to the chairs perched in the grass, the yard motionless and serene. It won’t be soon - the sun’s almost up, it’s about time for a morning swim. Sliding his shoes and socks off, he sits back in the chair, limbs tight until he forces them to go akimbo; maybe if he pretends he’s relaxed, his brain will actually buy it. 

He sits for a long time, thinking about nothing. Toes clench and unclench in the grass, the waves lap at the shore in the distance, seagulls arrive at the sand to look for crabs. This shore is so different from Weehawken that Danny thinks some semblance of peace is attainable. Focusing on the warmth of the dawn, of the distance sound of the sea, how we the air feels. 

He thinks of Grace, playing in the surf, laughing as little fish nibble at her toes. He thinks of Rachel, pressed against his side on their old full mattress, talking gently of the winters in her home country. He thinks of Chin, the heartbreak he wore on his sleeve for weeks, eyes shuttered and shoulders tight as he told everyone he was okay. He thinks of Kono, shut down to the world after her career crumbled before her eyes, imagines the same look on her sun-streaked face as she's wheeled away from the ocean on a gurney. He thinks of Mary, gently pulled out of the trunk of the car, Steve holding her close, the fear in her eyes and the cries lodged in her throat, the siblings' hands holding one another close, whispers of _you're alright_ and _I've got you_ – 

Danny loses it. 

Tucked into a ball in the adirondack chair, he cries into his knees, the ocean and the sunrise his only witness. The tears fall silently, the only sound him hiccuping on his own breath and little whines trapping themselves in his throat, his forehead pressed so hard against his kneecaps it hurts. There’s no sense of time save for the lightening of the morning, and he doesn’t really care, doesn't have enough thought to; he’s allowed to fall apart, so long as he can bring it all back, shove it down when he needs to go. And he can, he will. But not now. 

He falls asleep like that, tucked against Steve’s chair, face dry after a while, the ocean a metronome his exhausted brain can no longer fight. 

His last thoughts are of Matt. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes slowly, blinking out of a dream he’s already forgotten. The sun is breaking the blinds into slivers of light, and he takes his time coming to full awareness. It’s a luxury not often given, something his mind usually won’t let him do, but today seems to be one of the exceptions.

Steve goes through the routine with ease, from relieving himself to brushing his teeth, making the bed and throwing on his trunks. It’s gonna be a short swim today, he thinks, the laziness creeping into his bones. It’s a strange thing, joining the world and feeling so lethargic, so relaxed. Always the up and at ‘em type, Danny tends to criticize. Even Kono, for all her youth and exercise, loves to remind him that she only swam as much as he does when she was championing for records.

So maybe it’ll only be two miles instead of the usual four, then he can meander his way through the Marquis’ radiator. A relaxed day off (until he’s called in, anyway).

Towel draped over a shoulder, he chugs a glass of mango juice then heads out back. The out back in question sets his teeth on edge, and he slows his pace, looking for the cause of his immediate unease. Two things become quickly apparent: one, that there’s someone in his yard, and two, that that someone might be Danny.  

He walks forward slowly, still on the defensive, even though every step closer makes it a little more obvious that the figure is clearly his partner, messy hair and askew limbs and all. And as he is finally beside the chair, his impression is proven accurate – Danny Williams is asleep on one of the chairs in his backyard.

Confusion is replaced pretty quickly with concern; why is he here? It hits him in a rush, and Steve feels stupid for ever wondering. He’s incredibly touched and achingly sad for his partner, because grief is an unpredictable thing, but Danny’s objective had been clear: find comfort. His version of comfort, with Grace on the mainland, was here with Steve.

He wants to perch before the chair, knees buried in the grass, and gently touch Danny awake, physical reassurance that he cares, that he’s not alone, that he won’t ever be again if Steve has a say. Wants a lot of things. Instead, he watches for a while, noting that Danny would probably have woken if he wasn’t truly content (or really sleep-deprived – unfortunately Steve assumes it’s more the latter) with Steve hovering the way he is.

Decision made, Steve goes down to the water and pummels the waves for about a mile, then turns back. It’s not enough, but the urge to assure that Danny is okay overpowers the urge to work his body into that pleasant hum a long swim often brings.

Danny’s moved a bit by the time he reaches the shore, but still seems asleep. Steve dries off a few feet away, watching the worry lines darken in the passing seconds, knowing he should probably wake him soon.

Danny seems to have other plans, and blinks himself awake, mumbling under his breath and choking on shallow little breaths. Steve sits in the other chair, watching him. It takes Danny a few moments to notice Steve’s there, looking around in apparent confusion before his expression schools itself, clearly catching up and remembering how he got here.

“Sorry,” is the first thing he says, shifting in the unrelenting chair, hands rubbing at his neck and shoulders.

Steve shakes his head, leaning forward and perching his elbows on his knees. “Nothing to be sorry for, man,” he says. Not for the first time, he feel wrenched, heart heavy from seeing Danny this out of it, this spiritually confused. Everything about him screams unease and unsettlement, and Steve’s not used to seeing Danny that way, the man who’s all swagger and self-assured.

For the first time in their partnership, Danny looks small.

He watches Danny do it now, shrinking in, closing off. In a rush of emotion Steve’s on his feet, words flying out of his mouth before he can rethink them.

“Danny. I’ve been here, I’ve done this, and it doesn’t help. Please, man, just let me in.”

It’s a leap over the line they usually erect, friendly in many ways most friends aren’t, but this might be too much. Judging by how Danny’s schooled expression gets even more stony, Steve thinks his worry might be affirmed, and he wants to scrabble to take it back, only –

Only he doesn’t. Every word is true, after all. It’s all he wants, all he’s wanted for a long time, to be further in Danny’s space, to be the one that can bear all that extra weight, help work him through the loss and the pain of it. “Please, Danny,” he says, and he sounds wrecked, should be embarrassed, but isn’t in the slightest.

Then, something miraculous.

“Yeah, okay.”

It’s the smallest murmur, barely a whisper, and Danny’s looking down at the grass, still looking so small, but Steve wants to shout his relief for all the world to hear. “Come here,” He says too quickly, doing exactly what he wants for once, dropping to his knees in front of his partner. And bless him, Danny simply leans forward, so accepting and open, and the embrace is too tight and filled with so much emotion Steve feels he could burst. He makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat to relieve the pressure, and Danny’s face is pressed into the crook of his neck, hot skin pressed against cool, and he’s saying something against his salty skin, but the words are lost; Steve doesn’t think the words are really for his ears, anyway. It doesn’t matter, because Danny’s needed this for days, and really, so has Steve.

Now that all bets are off, Steve wastes no time in showing Danny exactly how important he is, how wanted he is, and how sorry Steve is for what’s happening. His hands are around his back, and he’s pressing his lips to his temple, then his hair, mumbling nonsense words to try and convey as much comfort as possible. Danny feels fever-hot and pliant in his arms, only now Steve can hear him, chapped lips rubbing against his collarbone as he speaks.

“They kept saying I did all I could,” he says. He sounds so apologetic, and Steve tightens his grip impossibly further.

“You don’t see it now, you won’t for a while, but you did, Danny, you did,” he says, so empathetic. “You did, you did more than most would, you were an amazing brother.”

“Wasn’t enough,” he all but keens, and Steve’s heart crumbles.

“I know, Danno, I know,” he says, his own voice about wrecked, because Danny’s pain is Steve’s pain now.

And really, there’s nothing more to say, and Steve doesn’t try. He just holds on, and when Danny pulls away, he complies, still staying in his airspace, because they have something here.

Danny sniffs, looks away, then looks back, giving him a loaded look. “Thanks,” he says.

“Of course,” he says, because thanks is the last thing Steve wants. “Any way I can help, man.”

Danny looks like he wants to say something, teetering on the edge of some invisible cliff, but his mouth stays shut. He nods once, a slow thing, as if he’s really considering Steve’s words. “Yeah. I mean, I uh, I’m bad at asking, and I don’t, you know, really know what I want, but,” he’s saying, leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees, face aligned with Steve’s, who’s still kneeling in the grass. “Just. Thanks.”

“Always, Danny,” Steve says, resting a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

Danny still looks a bit hollowed, as if the world is suddenly a daunting and impossible place, but Steve knows Danny, knows his strength and his passion, and knows he’ll be alright. It’s not okay today, won’t be for a while, but one day it will be.


End file.
